Tales of Times Not Told
by xxDodo
Summary: Just as the title says: things that we never learned, that were left to our imaginations - specifically mine. Scared yet? Pre- and post- series, bits of everything from Halt and Crowley to grandchildren. NOW: A bet? With Crowley? Things cannot go well.
1. Grumpy, Much?

**New story! *eyes widen and dodges* Don't kill me! At least I'm still writing. Anyway, this'll be fun :). **

**As the title suggests, I shall write pre-series (as if I wasn't with Gilan) now with mostly Halt and Crowley, but there's more! I've always wanted to do post-series (I know, "What the heck's wrong with timing **_**in **_**the series?") with the characters I've made up, and I'll put in a few of those as well to see how they go over. Also, they won't all be funny. I'm, uh, trying to expand my genres beyond pointless humor. *sheepish look* It's a little boring, I think.**

**But Imma contradict myself and start off with something funny cuz I'm a very impatient person and want to get this on with and am in a funny mood after working on One in a Million.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters you recognize, but quite a few OC's are mine. (How witty. The one thing I can't do. Witty disclaimers. Well, and raise an eyebrow, spell "musical," and – you get my drift.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Grumpy, Much?<strong>

* * *

><p>"Halt, are you grumpy?"<p>

A sigh. "No, Crowley, I'm never grumpy."

The other apprentice attempted to raise his eyebrow in the manner that Halt had since he'd gotten to Araluen. (Crowley could never really accomplish it though. It seemed so…king-like.)

"You _seem _grumpy," Crowley insisted.

"What makes you say that?"

"Look." Crowley immediately thrust a mug full to the brim with a rich and bitter-smelling black liquid under Halt's nose, only to have it pushed away carefully by a somewhat disgusted hand of Halt's. "You don't like coffee." The tone was despairing.

The black-haired apprentice eyed the blonde one in exasperation for a moment, before turning back to his doodles on their geography notes. "That doesn't make me grumpy."

"Yuh-huh," Crowley persisted irritatingly. "A life without coffee is a cold, sad life." He looked at the drink again, then held it out so Halt could see. "Your soul is as black as this coffee," he told Halt seriously.

"You know what, Crowley?" Halt suddenly asked. "I think _you're_ grumpy."

Crowley did an amusing double take. "Me?" His voice rose in pitch a little. "No way."

"Yes," Halt insisted. "Watch." And with that he flung out a hand and knocked the cup out of Crowley's hand, spilling the fast moving liquid all over the papers on the table. Not that Crowley cared about that bit.

"HALT!" Crowely yelped. "The COFFEE!" The taller Araluen fixed his glare on the small and wicked-looking Hibernian. "Y-you…"

But Halt had already turned to leave. "Sheesh," Halt muttered, walking away to hide his smirk. "Don't be so grumpy, Crowls."

A dumbstruck Crowley watched with his head tilted, wondering what had happened. (But then, he might be doing that a lot around Halt.)

* * *

><p><strong>Gah, short. My AN was longer. But just to get it started, leaving on an ominous note :D. Lemme know what you thought!**

**-Dodo**


	2. Of Bridge Jumping and Drunken Antics P1

**This idea came from Cambridge University in England, where they actually do this bridge-jumping thing. The whole bet thing, though, came from **Raider1472**, who mentioned it in her story and gave me permission to elaborate on it :D. **

**WARNING: Rating went to T for drunk-ness, and I suppose I should tell you not to try this at home, people.**

* * *

><p><strong>Of Bridge Jumping and Drunken Antics<strong>

**Part 1**

* * *

><p>It was dark. They had a small boat, canoe really. The end of the river could not be spotted, but Halt knew that by the time they reached it he'd have gotten over all the little bridge connected the two shores and still be sober enough to gloat.<p>

The boat was filled with bottles of wine, by the way.

Because Crowley had come up with this wonderful idea that, for their last night in Gallica, he and Halt should get drunk. And have to perform a near impossible physical task.

Well, Halt did, anyway. Crowley was content to use the excuse that he had to row the boat, while Halt did all the climbing over the little bridges crossing over the narrow river. This was called bridge jumping, and each time Halt successfully clambered over one of the bridges, he had to gulp down one bottle before the next one came.

The only way Halt agreed to this madness was by Crowley making it a bet.

Halt never turned down a bet.

The first few bridges went without trouble, as Halt was strong from three years of Ranger training, and found he could hold his liquor moderately well. Perhaps it came from wine being the only respite in those long and dreaded noble meetings.

"You are so going to lose."

Halt turned, more dizzily looked around, at Crowley's voice, glaring at some point around the other boy's shoulder. "Nope," he slurred. "I could do this with my eyes closed."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "You can barely see with your eyes open, anyway," he retorted.

The battle of wills continued.

It was by the fifth bottle that Halt started to get a little woozy, staggering around and threatening to tip the small rowboat over. Crowley attempted to get him to settle down by snapping his fingers, an action that seemed to make Halt suddenly alert as to where it was coming from.

"Come on, boy," Crowley coaxed, feeling quite like he was talking to a dog that had jut smelled food. He snapped his fingers again as a bridge came into view, expecting his friend to try to steady himself.

But then Halt began to sing.

"_I am going to win this bet, win this _– hiccup- _bet, win this bet  
>Crowley <em>– hiccup – _will lose this bet, lose this bet, lose this bet.  
>And then he'll have a pig to pet. <em>Hiccup."

It was, quite certainly, the most hilarious thing Crowley had ever seen. He wished he had some way to capture it forever and show to people.

Ah well. Halt would never live it down anyway.

"Bridge ahoy, Halt old buddy!" Crowley said gleefully, certain that, after the recent performance of Halt's, there was no way the Hibernian would make it over this one successfully _and _down another beer.

Crowley picked up speed as Halt staggered to his feet again. He had half a mind not to climb this one, but the alternative was too humiliating and dreadful to bear. So, he rose to his feet, beer bottle in one hand, and attempting a sort of jump to reach the paved stone on top.

The small Hibernian's direction was very misjudged, and he seemed to purposefully jump out the side of the boat instead, hitting the icy cold water with a shock and unable to flounder enough to make a difference.

A second later the boat was drifting by pure momentum as Crowley abandoned the oar and hauled Halt back onto the wooden vessel and shook him roughly, mildly surprised that the other boy's hold on the alcohol had not loosened.

"Halt! Halt, are you alright?" Crowley repeatedly slapped the drooling boy's face until Halt opened his mouth and came close to biting the finger.

It took a moment for Halt to muster enough brainpower to ask hopefully, "Did I win?"

Crowley's wicked grin melted Halt's willpower and he knew what the other apprentice would say before it happened. All the same, the Hibernian followed Crowley's finger as he pointed to a single bridge approaching, one Halt most certainly did not have the energy to climb over. Past it, a dock was growing clearer. Relatively clearer, as Halt was quite drunk. He could make out Crowley's next words though:

"So, Halt. What size pig do you wear?"

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, that was fun to write :D Oh dear, what will Halt have to do now?<strong>

**Review?**

**-Dodo**


	3. No Funny Business P1

**I really shouldn't be writing this. Really shouldn't as in: it's the end of the term and we're being dumped with last minute tests in every subject for which I'm supposed to be studying right now and_gave up my darned trick-or-treating night _ (gasp!shock!horror!) to not fail. But Imma rebel. Exhibit A.**

**I know I sorta left you hanging with that last Halt and Crowley chapter, but this idea just popped up and, as previously mentioned, my, er, rebel side decided to pounce. It's POST-series, and deals with Gilan and his kid(s). I dunno as of yet if there'll be much background, it's mostly just a for-the-season thing that I felt like doing and am just goin' with the flow. :) **

**(Later note: I also decided to post this as a separate fic, just cuz I ended up liking it so much. Heh.)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Summary: <strong>It's just Halloween. What could go wrong with Caleb and Rebecca? But a haunted house and some wet pants later, Gil's son has some explaining to do. Post-series. My laments of not going trick-or-treating. :(

* * *

><p><strong>No Funny Business!<strong>

* * *

><p>The chill in the air and recently spread frost (quite rare, even for late October) was tinged with the excitement emitting from each and every home containing the joy of children, and even from the occasional lonely old couple looking forward to opening their doors and seeing the imaginations of youngsters at their best. The evening was dropping, with it the promise of a night filled with ghosts and ghouls, princesses and knights, fantastical creatures that had no name but in the mind of a child were as real as anything. Parents got ready to convince their kids that eating too much candy would, in fact, make you sick and vomit all the good stuff they'd wanted to enjoy. As with all holidays and the it's-a-<em>special<em>-day feeling they brought, Hallows Day was prepared for in eagerness.

Even not-yet-adults who many would lightly scold to be too old for such childish endeavors prepared intricate plans to gain as many treats as possible – a feat more important to the teens than having the best costume. And in the decent-sized Ranger cabin at the edge of the woods at a certain fief, the teen inside was no exception.

Gilan gave his son a once-over, barely hiding his good-natured exasperation. Fourteen and still insisting to go out with his friend (one of the female gender, he might add) and plunder those poor townspeople for the candy that was rightfully meant for the _little_ kids. Of course, when Gil had informed Caleb of this the other night, his son had adopted a perfectly wide-eyed look, insisting that it was the child inside him that just wanted to be set free. The notion and acting had been so ridiculous that both father and son burst into laughter, and Gil consented. As they both knew he would have anyway.

"You are seriously going out like that, then?" Gilan teased.

Caleb glanced down at his outfit: a black shirt, black trousers, black boots, a black belt decorated with silver knives (fake, of course), overtop of all of it he wore a long warm black cloak with a hood – which would be covering his eyes, a toy bow and quiver set he'd once gotten slung across his back, and on the back of the cloak in silver letters spelled out "Ranger Corps: Gone Bad."

Caleb looked at his father innocently. "What's wrong with it?"

Gilan just ruffled Caleb's hair, earning him a smile from his young son. "And Rebecca's going out like that too?"

"Yes," Caleb answered while Gilan checked on his coffee (there was always coffee on the pot in that house). "It was her idea."

Gilan raised his eyes to the heavens. "How could I forget," he joked. "That girl and her ideas." He could have sworn Caleb blushed a bit, but then it passed.

"I'll let her know you enjoy being usurped by the Dark Ranger Clan." Caleb brought one side of the cloak up to his face. "We shall rule the kingdom one day."

Gil snorted, almost grinning. Then Caleb chirped a good-bye and grabbed his cloth bag, but before he could leave Gilan blocked the doorway with his eyebrows raised. "Hold on there. Ground rules." Caleb frowned in apprehension, wondering if any limits to his wandering would affect the amount of candy they received. "First, only go to houses with candlelight on."

_I know,_ Caleb wanted to say, but held silent.

"Second, you're to be back three hours before midnight." Caleb opened his mouth now to protest but Gilan fixed him with a long-suffering look. "It the two of you want to bathe or whatever in your coming hoard of candy, I still need Becca home by ten, so you'll have time to do that.

"And last," Gilan smiled, "have fun."

Caleb shifted from foot to foot. "Right. Can I go?"

Gilan moved out of the way, calling just before Caleb reached the bottom of the porch steps, "And _no _funny business!"

Caleb waved a hand in reply. No funny business. It was just Halloween. What could go wrong?

* * *

><p>Caleb met up with his trick-or-treating buddy Rebecca as the path to town sloped and signified the first farmhouse of the area. Childhood friends, it was no surprise that they were dressed similarly. The only difference being, of course, that she was a girl. The two hadn't quite come to that realization yet, still remaining the best of friends and nothing more, to the content of both.<p>

Rebecca greeted her friend in her bouncy, excited way, not wasting any time before dragging the cloaked teen to the surprisingly eerie-looking farmhouse.

Pumpkins scattered throughout the lawn, the evidence of the recent festival the fief had held, where everyone could decorate as many pumpkins as they wanted and then some for the odd ornament here and there. Several scarecrows had been added outside of the actual crop fields, each one looking realistic in its own way. One even sat on the porch in a rocking chair, a light chilly breeze causing it to creek every now and then.

For their first house, Caleb and Rebecca were suitably creeped out.

All the same, the two braved the steps and knocked on the front door. They received no answer. Rebecca tried again, but Caleb's eyes had strayed to the dummy on the rocking chair. Its head was turned towards them, X's for eyes unlively yet staring into his very soul.

Caleb shivered, nudging his friend. "Do you think it's real?" he asked in a whisper.

"Of course no-" Rebecca's skeptic remark was cut off as she studied the thing more closely. "Um."

"That clears it up," Caleb joked nervously, still whispering.

Rebecca's hand was on his arm, pushing him slightly. "Go check!"

"What? How?"

"I don't know! Poke it or something!"

Caleb stared at her incredulously. Rebecca nodded towards the seemingly stuffed thing in a manner she thought to be encouraging. "Go on."

Realizing he really was going to do this, Caleb inched closer, telling himself that of course it wasn't real. Scarecrows weren't real. Of course they weren't real, so Caleb reached out an index finger to probe the thing in the face...

And then the perfectly solid legs straightened and the not-stitched-closed mouth formed: "Boo!"

"_AHHH!"_

* * *

><p><strong>So...I was going to be a "Dark Ranger," much like lil ol' Cally is in this fic. But as you know that didn't work out. Thus I lived out my dreams through him. <strong>

**And since it's already two days past Halloween, I just decided to stuff it and split this into two so that it wasn't Christmastime when I posted and then that would cut into my Christmas-honor fic and that in turn would cut into everything else the whole schedule would be screwed. So, clever mind that I am, I posted early, and saved us all (actually only me) from destruction. However, a certain **radha24-Dusty'sApprentice **had the same idea with _her_ Hallow's fic :D Check it out, 'tis good!**

**No, I do not know what exactly happened to Jenny (well, I have a back-story but it's just a thought, one I'm not keen to put in writing any time soon).**

**Reviews are like my substitute candy :D**

**-Dodo**


End file.
